


The Baby's A Little Strange

by Hobbitrocious



Category: Doctor Strange (2016)
Genre: ABDL, Adult baby, Age Play, Bittersweet, Caregiver/little, Cloak of Levitation (Marvel), Diapers, Discipline, Drabble Sequence, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Infantilism, Injury Recovery, Mommy/little, Movie Spoilers, Non-Sexual Age Play, Other, Snark, Spanking, Vignette, infantilisation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-09-02 02:57:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8649010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hobbitrocious/pseuds/Hobbitrocious
Summary: Neither of them knowing at first that it's what they both want, Christine gradually manipulates Stephen into being her sweet baby boy.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I kinda-sorta wrote het, albeit pretty platonically. Savour it; it won't happen often. :b
> 
> This is so fragmented (sorry) because it was written on very little sleep and very much booze. Hopefully it still reads coherently. I haven't proof-read yet seeing as I haven't sobered up. @.@
> 
> At the very least, I am darn proud of restraining myself and not putting in any joke content like references to Aqua's "If I Could Turn Back Time" or Cardcaptor Sakura. (SO MUCH SPOOF POTENTIAL. OMG.)

 

"Time for your sponge bath!" Christine sang, sarcastically pretending to sound cheery. She set her supplies on the bedside table.

This was the third week since Stephen's accident, and his care routines were now familiar and tedious. Christine carefully opened his patient gown and tugged it up to his elbows so she could reach his chest and underarms to clean him.

"Oh, thank goodness it's you this time. Nurse Pixie washed me two days ago and used ice cold water," Doctor Strange groused from his mostly immobile position in the hospital bed, accusingly, "I think she actually got the water from the ice machine."

"Maybe if you stopped calling her Nurse Pixie and started calling her Nurse Burroughs, or, you know, even 'Annie' like the rest of us do," Christine pointed out, "she might be a little nicer to you. Pink hair dye _is_ acceptable in the dress code now."

"I never said it wasn't. She just looks like she should be on a TV show wearing faerie wings and singing songs to kids, surrounded by crappy puppets."

Christine made mocking puppy eyes and started dabbing the damp and, thankfully, warm sponge over Stephen's skin. "Aw, do you want a puppet show to cheer you up? Do I need to call Zippy the Clown to stop by and visit you after he makes his rounds upstairs? Or should I just wheel you into the paediatric ward so you can watch Zippy with all the other whiny little boys and girls."

"Ugh, no. No clowns, ever," Stephen spat, shifting as if he wanted to flee to the other side of the room.

 

* * *

 

 

Still in her scrubs from her shift, Christine entered with a cafeteria tray.

"Jell-o and applesauce," Stephen noted with a lack of enthusiasm. "Why not just bring baby food."

Christine smirked and threatened, "Another time, maybe."

His feeding went well until one mouthful somehow failed to coordinate. He turned is head just a bit, distracted by a seagull passing the window, and she tilted the spoon just the slightest bit too far. Cold applesauce hit Stephen's cheek and trickled down his chin. When he flinched, Christine could see the muscles in his arms jump as he clamped down on the instinct to jerk against the traction devices.

"You did that on purpose," Stephen whined, suddenly looking as if he might cry.

Apologetic, Christine quickly reached for a paper napkin and started wiping the mess from his three-day stubble, whispering, "No, I didn't. I'm sorry. You turned your head."

His appetite lost, they spent the rest of Christine's break in silence, her petting his hair back and him biting his tongue.

 

* * *

 

The next day at lunch, she presented him with a bowl of colourless slop that was too finely milled to be oats or grits.

Stephen complained as soon as he saw it, "Oh, you didn't. Seriously?"

"I told you I would," Christine reminded him as she sat beside the bed and loaded up the spoon. She got down to business straight away, expectantly pressing the spoon to Stephen's lips.

He sniffed suspiciously. When he took a breath to ask whether it was what he thought it was, she took advantage and slipped the baby food inside.

Forced to swallow first, Stephen winced around the unexpected reflex, then, licking his lips, remarked, "Banana?"

"Yup. It's got some vegetable in there too, and all organic." Patronisingly, she smiled and chirped, "See? Mommy's making sure you get the best nutrition while you recover."

In response to his sour look, she grinned so wide it made her squint.

Sometimes he really hated her. But in a good way.

 

* * *

 

Despite practise, undoing his trouser fly to use the toilet didn't feel like it was getting any easier. Strange hadn't had an 'accident' yet, but had come desperately close once already, and would have wet himself if it hadn't been for Christine answering his whimpering call from the other room at the last possible second to help.

That evening, Christine told him she'd ordered something online that she promised would make the situation easier. She wouldn't say what she'd bought; just told him, "You'll see. It will be here soon, I paid for expedited shipping."

"Thank you," he said wearily, if not humbly, trusting her for the moment that she had his best interests at heart.

 

* * *

 

He wasn't quite so grateful when she opened the big brown box for him and pulled out four ten-packs of adult sized diapers deliberately fashioned after actual baby diapers, complete with childish decorative patterns and scented with what was marketed as a soothing, classic baby powder smell.

He looked at how _many_ she had ordered and muttered incredulously, "You're serious?"

She shrugged. "I already feed you, bathe you, and take care of just about everything else except for talking to your friends for you. I might as well change your diapers too, instead of going through the struggle to make everything work reaching around you squatted over the toilet. I think these will make it easier on me. We can try them out and see."

Strange sighed and agreed to give the diapers a test run. He was also tired of the awkward manoeuvring in the bathroom multiple times each day. What Christine was suggesting kind of made sense.

 

* * *

 

He was still mildly annoyed when she took the next, admittedly obvious, step and showed him a webpage for ordering adult sized baby clothes. The site mainly offered incontinence clothing and waterproof bed sheeting, but Christine had pulled up a selection of snap-crotch onesies and asked him, "Does their Large look long enough?"

"I should have expected this," Stephen quipped. "Your true goal all this time has been just to make me your dress-up doll. Doctor Stephen Strange, renowned neurosurgeon, reduced to a living My Size Barbie."

"Pshht, oh, stop," she laughed, then looked at him fondly. "You know I'm doing this because you need someone, and I want to take care of you. I like that we can spend time together this way, and not just me trailing along to your speaking engagements, or bumping into each other for two seconds in the hall before I have to run back into Emergency."

She clicked the mouse, and a selection of fabric swatches appeared.

"What do you think of that one?" she asked and hovered the cursor over a pale yellow square with a multicolour alphabet pattern.

Stephen thought about it for a moment - everything Christine had said, and how far they'd come since he was discharged, and how maybe he really was curious to find out what a onesie would feel like hugging his diapers securely to his body - and, settling against her side on the sofa, replied, "I like that one, Mommy."

She turned to look at him in surprise, but her expression also held some hint of pride. She seemed... pleased with him.

Blushing, Stephen bowed his head to rest on her shoulder and popped his thumb into his mouth. It was unexpectedly soothing.

"I think I saw a link to some orthodontic pacifiers," Christine said, opening a new browser tab. She licked her lips and retraced her steps to the link. "Those should be just your size too."

 

* * *

 

"Oh, good baby!" Christine praised her little Stephen as he showed her how he could stretch all five fingers to press the all furthest out buttons on his light-up lullaby toy at the same time.

 

"Can you do it with the other hand?" she requested.

She watched with bated breath as he concentrated, the tip of his tongue stuck out between his lips to aid the effort, and slowly stretched the trembling muscles of his other hand to do the same as he had done with the first.

The little lights flashed and a myriad of tinkling tunes competed with each other as he succeeded, pressing the same far-apart buttons in all at once.

Jubilant, Christine scooped him up and hugged him tight. "Good boy! You did so well!"

She kissed his temple and drew back to see his bashful face smiling sweetly back at her.

"Time for your massage now, and a nap. Okay? Let's go put you in your crib."

 

* * *

 

Despite the progress he did make, Stephen wasn't satisfied. He craved his old life back. He wanted to work again, needed the thrill of exercising his mastery and knowledge of the human brain and that complex network of nerves feeding into it from the spine like an alien, fringed tail floating through the rest of the tissues that made up the body. The loss of his career still pained him, every single day.

It hurt far less when he could lose himself in the easy, simple-minded love that Christine asked of him. He wished he could be her baby boy more of the time, but she still had her duties at the hospital and her own place to go home to, her own life to tend.

If he had any money of his own left after the last disappointing procedure on his hands, he could at least fill the time she was away with visits to a professional Dommy Mommy, to regress into his safe space and hide from the ache in his soul, but he knew that was an unrealistic expense right now. The scant savings he had left absolutely needed to go, along with a loan, toward his next operation. He had high hopes for this one...

 

* * *

 

Denied. He wouldn't admit it, but he would have refused to carry out the procedure himself if asked while he was still capable. But this was his last hope. This was everything. And it, everything, was all gone, kept from his shaking reach, with he push of a button as his bastard coward of a colleague cut the connection.

 

* * *

 

"You care... _so_ much," Stephen spat like it was some horrible insult. _So gullible. Too good to me_. _So unfair when you can't be here every hour of the day, too painful._

She cared, and he didn't deserve one whit of it.

Not that he'd ever say it in those words. He still had his pride, after all.

_His entitlement, his ego._

That night, he was too numb to cry at first. Then his Little headspace hit, and he cried for Mommy.

He cried so hard, but she didn't appear.

 

* * *

 

Christine was gradually becoming used to things like the Cloak of Levitation and the occasional mad dash to save the world by flinging magical sparks or opening spacial rifts.

The Cloak, at least, _was_ an easy thing to get used to after the initial heebie-jeebies wore off. It was rather helpful to have around, in fact. Currently it was slowly swinging side to side, cradling a sleeping Sorcerer Supreme (which Christine still asserted sounded like a Halloween pizza order), in the nursery.

The Cloak also knew exactly when and how to hold Stephen's legs up for a diaper change, and seemed to delight in aiding in other nursery tasks. It even enabled Christine to 'carry' her overgrown baby around, which was something she never thought possible. But, then, Stephen had shown her so many impossible things since his return.

Christine was especially glad to have it around to help once Stephen became 'diaper buddies' with Tony Stark, at the latter's persistent request. As if one emotionally insecure boy wasn't enough, now she often had a pair to look after. They were awfully cute, though, even when they got into trouble. Sometimes electronics would catch fire after being tinkered with using Little Tykes tools, and other times some glowing, flying, rogue pet hamster-thing carelessly conjured for the babies' amusement would have to be shooed into the unimaginable aether from whence it came.

 

One thing that Christine was sure of in her ever-changing world was that it was all absolutely worth it.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for all the great comments! And they paid off! This was originally a oneshot, but you've all inspired me to write more to this. I know I'm an excruciatingly slow writer/updater, (can't help it, sorry,) but I hope the wait was worth it.

  
  
" _Treguna, mekoides, aaaand trecorum satis dee!_ " two giggling, deep voices rang out.  
  
Christine walked into the nursery to see Stephen waving his hands around, guiding the movements of a marching line made up of all the clothing he and Tony had stripped off.  
  
She shrieked.

* * *

  
  
Stephen wasn't the best at masking spells, and wasn't much interested in casting optical glamours anyway. That was pointless, mundane magic.   
  
But he did manage an auditory masking spell and successfully tweaked it so that, while he and Tony could understand each other, to anyone else their speech just sounded like a load of unintelligent baby garble.  
  
Christine didn't even suspect at first. She didn't know such a manipulation was possible. It was really weird, though, how her Littles seemed to be able to coordinate and confer despite only babbling and goo-goo ga-ga-ing.  
  
She found out what it was after an occasion when Stephen had forgotten to lift the spell.  
  
"I hope my babies are awake?" Christine chirped as she entered. They'd taken their nap, and now it was time for Tony to age up and go home.   
  
"Gahhh, bwih-bwuh!" Stephen answered.  
  
"Mmmih nuh gwaw bah." Tony agreed.  
  
"Come on," Christine chided as she grabbed Tony's grown-up clothes and unlocked his crib, "It's big boy time now."  
  
"Pfffooo, nyah!"  
  
"Seriously, you two, we agreed to this. Remember?"  
  
There followed a lengthy exchange of baby talk between the men, from their cribs on opposite sides of the room.  
  
 _"What, I don't know what you want me to say. I'm getting up and getting dressed as soon as you step out of the way."_  
  
 _"Is this some kind of head game to force us to stay Little? I'm in, but I thought Tony had to be back by four today. You do, don't you?"_  
  
 _"Yeah, but it's not like the company won't run itself if I ghost until the next shareholders' meeting."_  
  
Christine stared at them, bewildered.  
  
 _"Mommy, is Tony staying? Er, Christine, what's wrong?"_  
  
 _"I just figured it out. You're an idiot."_  
  
 _"What?! What did_ I _do?"_  
  
 _"You forgot to shut off your mumbo-jumbo filter before we went to sleep. We still sound like a Special Olympics tag team."_  
  
 _"Oh, fuck."_  
  
Stephen concentrated, and snapped his fingers when they'd accumulated an orange glow of mystic energy. The spell was gone.  
  
"Stevie said a bad word!" Tony crowed, thrusting his body halfway out of his crib to point triumphantly at his playmate.  
  
"Don't call me Stevie!"  
  
"Stevie-beevie!"  
  
"Momm-eeee!"  
  
Christine looked at them both like she didn't think there was a speck of sanity left in the room, and said, "I don't know what on earth that just was, but you-" she grabbed Tony by the arm and hauled him out of the crib, "- need to put these on. Your driver's been waiting outside for, like, ten minutes."  
  
"He doesn't mind. He's got satellite TV in there, unlimited international calling-"  
  
"Tony, get dressed."  
  
"Yeah, okay. He still said a bad word, though. You should spank him."  
  
"You called me an idiot!"  
  
"Yeah, but that's not four letters, and you _did_ forget to make us stop _sounding_ like idiots!"  
  
"Well now you gave the whole thing away!"  
  
"Calm your ruby slippers or I'll drop a house on you, Glenda." Tony turned to Christine, "Spank him."  
  
And then Tony waddled to the bathroom to get dressed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is snowballing, so I've now marked it as unfinished with an indefinite future chapter amount. Comments are what inspire me to keep going!
> 
> I felt like a bit of a tease after the end of the last chapter. Hopefully this one makes up for it?
> 
> Also, I'm pretty sure this is the first time I'm posting a punishment-spanking fic, so I'd love feedback. Far as I remember, my past attempts were never finished because I would write myself into a corner or squick myself out. Discipline is not my thing, but I do like writing things that others will enjoy and wanted to try it out in literary form.

"Would you _stop_ playing with your weenie?" Tony griped.  
  
Stephen, clearly very regressed, grinned blithely at Tony before slowly playing with his weenie some more.  
  
Frustrated and bored, Tony let out an aggravated groan.  
  
Christine walked around to in front of their highchairs to see how the pair were doing with their finger foods.  
  
"Are you boys all done?"  
  
"I'm done," Tony blurted immediately, 'I wanna play with the cars."  
  
Christine looked at the tray locked over Tony's lap and pointed out, "You're not done until all the carrots and green beans are in your tummy. Finish up, then you can play."  
  
"He won't finish his weenies," Tony tattled, pointing at his playmate in the other highchair.  
  
Christine glanced at Strange, who had been repeatedly popping the same turkey stick halfway into his mouth only to let it slide out and hit the tray, and said, "I think he likes licking all the salt off first. But he has to finish his lunch before he gets to play, just like you do."  
  
"Fiiine," Tony sighed.  
  
With a wary look, Christine left them again to check her laptop for new messages.  
  
Tony twisted to see behind his chair to make sure she was gone, then watched Stephen until he saw an opening.  
  
When he found one, Tony quickly tossed a carrot stick so that it landed between Stephen's back and the backrest of his highchair.  
  
Stephen startled a bit at the impact, and peered around for the source of the sound... Until he leaned back and bumped into a lump of something. He wiggled in his seat, and the mysterious lump fell down into the crack where the back of the highchair met the seat, where it no longer bothered him.  
  
Tony threw over a string bean next, which Stephen didn't even notice. This seemed to be working pretty well.  
  
Encouraged but impatient, Tony picked up his colourful plastic plate and stretched way over to the side, dumping all his veggies down Stephen's back.  
  
Stephen dropped his weenie and squeaked.  Realising what had happened, he looked over at Tony with the most hurt expression ever. Stephen's eyes began to mist over, and his bottom lip trembled.  
  
"No!" Tony hissed, "Don't. Shh, shh..."  
  
Stephen didn't cry very loudly, but his wails of betrayal carried well enough to have Christine rushing into the kitchen.  
  
"What's wrong?" she called before she'd even reached them. When she found which of her Littles was crying, she smoothed Stephen's hair back and cooed to him, "What is it, baby? Can you tell Mommy what's wrong?"  
  
Tony saw her throw a suspicious glance at his empty plate, but then the crybaby had her full attention again.  
  
"I hope your diaper rash isn't coming back," Christine tutted. "Sit back and let me get this open--"  
  
Stephen wailed harder as she nudged him back into the uncomfortable jumble of carrots and string beans. He pulled away from the backrest with a jerk and scooted completely forward, belly up to the tray.  
  
"What's the matter? Geez," Christine took Stephen's plate away and managed to unlatch one side of the tray in spite of his squirming. She quickly flipped it over so it hung from the arm of the chair, freeing him.  
  
Stephen outright shrieked, watching his turkey weenie fall to the floor and roll away. Instinctively, he leaned forward although there was no way he could catch it.  
  
"Oh, god!" Thinking he was about to fall out, Christine caught him around the ribs in a bear hug, bracing herself to push him back into the highchair.  
  
Over Stephen's shoulder, she saw a mess of orange and green. A few of the veggies shifted and tumbled out near her feet.

* * *

  
  
Part of Tony's punishment had been to wait in his highchair the entire time it took Christine to calm Stephen down.  
  
Stephen's turkey stick was rescued and rinsed off, and lovingly hand fed to him, which helped quiet his hiccuping cries to mere sniffles and whimpers. After, the Cloak of Levitation swooped into the room and scooped itself under Stephen's bottom so that Christine could 'carry' him to his crib.  
  
There, in the nursery, she stripped off his messy bib and his onesie, leaving him in nothing but his diaper, and she gave his beard and fingers a quick wash with a baby wipe. The Cloak fetched one of Stephen's pacifiers and eagerly nudged it between his receptive lips. Christine left him snuggled under a warm, fuzzy blanket, with a lullabye soundtrack playing.  
  
Then, she returned to the kitchen for Tony.  
  
Tony, who had all this time to anticipate being dragged into the spanking corner. Christine didn't spank when her boys were very tiny babies, but Tony had been in distinct kindergartner mode all day and therefore was old enough to receive correction.  
  
The spanking corner was the farthest-away spot in the apartment from the nursery; this way, one Little's punishment didn't necessarily have to be witnessed or even heard by the other in case it would upset him. Stephen was especially sensitive to discord; his time at Kamar-Taj had apparently awakened some of his latent abilities as an empath.  
  
As soon as Tony was allowed to hop down from his highchair, Christine took his wrist and marched him straight to the spanking corner. It doubled as a time-out corner sometimes, but Christine felt today's antics called for something more impactful than a time-out.  
  
She sat on the low wooden chair, keeping a hold on Tony's arm so that he was forced to stand in front of her.  
  
Looking Tony in the eye, Christine asked in a firm tone, "Auntie Christine is going to spank you for what you did. Do you know why you're being punished?"  
  
"Um... Because I didn't eat my food?" Tony mumbled, fidgeting with his stocking feet.  
  
"That, and for throwing your food all over Stephen," she clarified. "That was a mean thing to do. You were going to lie to me that you ate it all, and you hurt him on top of it."  
  
"I'm sorry!" Tony whined petulantly, "I promise I won't do it again."  
  
"Whew..." Christine took a calming breath. She'd heard that one before, and knew that, without some kind of enforcement, the promise likely wouldn't be kept for very long. "You'd better not. I'll accept that as an apology to me, but you're going to have to apologise to Stephen, too, when he wakes up."  
  
"I will! Don't spank me, please? I don't wanna get spanked."  
  
"I know, but you're still going to get spanked to make sure you remember not to do this again. No hiding things to get out of doing what Auntie Christine told you to do, and no more throwing things at other kids. Understand?"  
  
"Yes..." Tony said with trepidation, eyes wide.  
  
"Okay. This spanking is so that you remember those lessons."  
  
Efficiently, she undid the buttons on his red choo-choo train overalls and let the outfit drop to Tony's ankles. To his surprise, she pulled down his thick training pants as well.  
  
Tony assumed the position with minimal guidance and fuss, not wanting to make the punishment any worse for himself. He knelt and draped himself across her lap, presenting his bare bottom to her.  
  
She wrapped an arm around his waist and tugged him closer, forcing a grunt out of him.  
  
Tony held his breath, listening for movement in the silence, but was still caught entirely by surprise when the first hard stinging slap hit his bottom.  
  
"Aw! Ffffffffffffff..." Tony bit down on his lip to avoid letting a cuss word spill out. If Auntie Christine heard him curse, it would mean more spanks for him. Wayyyy more spanks.  
  
Christine gave his pert rear twenty loud, jarring, painful swats in all. She wasn't the lightweight she appeared to be, and a punishment from her bare hands was just as bad as receiving smacks with a paddle. Tony squawked and kicked on every single one, unable to do anything else as his mind shorted out with the overstimulating buildup of heated sting. The pain spread over his skin and, by the final spank, deep into the muscles.  
  
His butt was a hot red at the end, and so were the rims of his eyes. He had snot dripping from his nose when Christine tipped him back up to face her.  
  
"There, we're all done now," she reassured him.  
  
"That wasn't fair!" Tony bawled.  
  
"That was totally fair," Christine countered, "that's why it's called a punishment."  
  
Tony moaned woefully at her.  
  
"Are you going to be a good boy now?" she prompted, opening her arms to invite him for a well deserved hug.  
  
He sniffled and nodded, "Uh-huh," and glomped onto her desperately, where he continued to snivel over her shoulder.  
  
"Okay. Let me get your pants up, and then you can play cars until Stephen's awake."  
  
Christine helped Tony to his feet and tugged his training pants up, and got him buttoned back into his overalls and cleaned up.  
  
  
Stephen got his own back later, when he magically fused all of the cast iron toy cars together into one big, jumbled heap.  
  
He earned a time-out for that one.  
  
And Tony didn't offer him any of the profits after the incident inspired him to create his own line of super souped-up miniature hotrods, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found out that some people actually use the word 'weenie' for delicatessen instead of... the usual thing. And I found this amusing enough that it spawned plot bunnies.


End file.
